


The Rejects

by atsuyuri_sama



Category: The Losers (2010), The Losers - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Body Modification, Brainwashing, Child Abuse, Comic Book Science, Genius children, Max Dies, Minor Character Death, Multi, Roque lives, Shapeshifting, Telekinesis, Telepathy, children trained to be soldiers, covert kidnapping, manipulation of children, roque is not a traitor by choice, weaponized cyborg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-02-06 19:49:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1870185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atsuyuri_sama/pseuds/atsuyuri_sama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The men who would have been the Losers are instead childhood laboratory projects, instead of just an ordinary Special Operations team. This is their story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Rejects

**Author's Note:**

> It started out as an exploration of the prompt: What if that scene – the one with Jensen ‘shooting’ the guards – was real? By the time I realized that one scene wouldn’t be Jensen shooting them with psychic powers, I’d already written a whole bunch, and just let it roll from there. Have fun, and constructive criticism welcomed!

The idea was to create the most diverse unit of Spec Ops they could, and still keep a cohesive group.

They went searching all over the world – looking for the perfect combination of people. Children, it was decided, would be best. Train them all at once, from a young age, and they would literally _grow up_ knowing nothing but their team. They would be a well-oiled machine of potential.

There would have to be a Leader, a Weapons Specialist, a Transporter, a Tech, and a Sniper.

It took a while, but by secretly watching every elementary school in the States, five brilliant children that fit the necessary criteria were found.

**-Rejects-**

In the end, they decided that an older Leader would be best – someone that the rest of the kids naturally felt they could look up to, if only because he was older.

They found him in Franklin Matthew Clay, age nine.

His report cards, his teachers, and covert eyes all pointed towards the same thing: he was charismatic, driven, and intense. He drew people to him – and to whatever ‘cause’ he was claiming – by sheer force of will. He was a born leader, and seemed to instinctively know how to rally those who he’d drawn to him.

Franklin was an only child, tasked with caring for his ailing mother alone, after his father died in a work accident. She was wasting away, and without the money for care, no matter what the boy did, she would die and he would be left all alone. In spite of his youth, it was clear that Franklin knew this – every minute of every day was spent struggling to make her proud, or to make sure he had enough food on the table, or that she was as comfortable as he could make her.

It was easy to bring him into the fold.

An operative approached him, claiming that they could heal the widowed Mrs. Clay. Franklin’s first act was suspicion – what did they want in return for the treatments? He’d looked them up, and they were long and expensive, though effective. What did this operative want from Franklin in exchange?

When the operative explained how the government needed him for his ability to lead others, Franklin pressed on. It was another positive mark in his file: not only was the boy a charismatic leader, but a smart one. There would be no stupid maneuvers on his part, once he got used to the game of war. Instead of explaining, the operative made one final offer: that Franklin go with him, and submit to the program that found him so perfect for the job, while his mother got the best care and monetary support that could be provided, for the rest of her life, which would be as long and painless as could be made… or that Franklin return to her, and watch her waste away her final months of life in pain, and know that he’d ruined a chance to save her all that.

The thought of his mother alive and well was a good incentive, especially for so desperate a young boy, whose mother was – at this point in time – his whole life. The operative assured Franklin that his mother would be informed of his whereabouts and he of hers; he was going to be a hero, and he and his team would change the world.

It only took a quick visit to widow Mrs. Clay (at her most incoherent, to minimize questions) to get her signature, signing over guardianship of her son, as well as his own nine-year-old scrawled name, to seal the deal. Within the hour, basic necessities had been packed into a duffle bag, and Franklin was whisked away after watching his mother be carefully loaded into an ambulance.

**-Rejects-**

The Tech was even easier to find and acquire.

This one they found in Jacob Kenneth Jensen, with an IQ of 167 and an innate understanding of computers even at six years old. He couldn’t hack yet, but he was teetering right on that edge.

He’d been raised in Kentucky with an alcoholic, abusive father; a depressive mother who left shortly after he turned four; and a five year old sister. Despite the things he’d seen his father do, the things his mother had never done, and the things that were done to him and his sister, the boy was filled with spirit… though shy as a dormouse. Even at six though, he showed a protective streak a mile wide for his younger sister, and stood in their father’s way too often, for her sake.

After being beaten up by a small group of local junior high students, an operative approached the tiny boy with an offer he couldn’t refuse. He was told that he could be taken to a place where no one would make fun of him, where he could play with computers as long as he wanted, and where his father would never find him. Immediately, the six year old was interested. When the deal included that they would remove his sister, and place her into a suitable foster home where their father could never find her either, Jake grabbed his backpack and followed the operative straight into his car.

They were slightly concerned by the willingness to go into an unknown situation like that, but chalked it up to his home situation and the desperation involved in such a plight, and hoped that Franklin’s own interference would temper his bravado.

Even better, they wanted the team to learn as many languages between them as possible, and – because he was a functional mute, vocalizing less than a handful of words in a whole month – the boy already knew two: English and American Sign Language. The multilingual streak would be an asset, if expanded.

**-Rejects-**

When four months went by without finding any other candidates, they began training Franklin and Jacob – simply known as Clay and Jensen, like any other military recruit – for their eventual roles. The two had both shown great promise already in the physical aspects of the program, acting as much like Army recruits as their smaller bodies and younger minds would allow.

Slowly, the scientists of the program began to introduce the boys to their natures.

Surrounded on all sides by scientists who wouldn’t tell him much at all, and a younger ‘brother’ who seemed to be at wits end – mute and too smart and nosy for his own good – Clay took to his role easily and without prompting. Wherever Jensen went, they could be sure that he had a Clay-shaped shadow, growling menacingly when anyone frightened the smaller boy. His actions brought Jensen out of his shell, making the kid – if Clay didn’t nay-say something – was suddenly fearless, confident that Clay would catch him should he fall.

As the Leader, Clay would be given a boost to the empathetic corners of his brain. The idea was to allow him to mentally sense all of his teammates, and be able to monitor their emotions and reactions such that that he could lead them even better. They began to inject him with temporary, mild solutions of the beta version of the drug they hoped would do just that, allowing his mind and body to adjust to the strange intrusion and resulting growth.

Clay proved to be able to read most anyone he had eye contact with (as long as they weren’t possessed of stringent mental discipline), and was able – with training about human psychology, over time – to react accordingly. His ability to manipulate those around him based on what he felt and then how he reacted were even better than what had been projected, and everyone was impressed. Clay adapted so well to the abilities that he began to alert the scientists when he started to feel the drug wear off, so attuned to his ranges that he knew when it was fading.

Being surrounded 24/7 by a dozen prodding scientists had done nothing for Jensen’s self-confidence. In spite of that, when they showed him how computer languages worked, and let him loose on a couple systems, the boy tore through them like cotton candy, proving their assessments of his technological prowess correct. He clung to Clay’s support like a bur, and with the knowledge that computers would bow to his whim and that Clay wouldn’t let him get hurt, he blossomed.

As the Tech, Jensen would be given a similar boost as Clay, but to the problem-solving and the phisio-kinetic centers of his brain and spinal cord, respectively (the first, self-explanatory, and the second, a newly-discovered portion of the nervous system found active in only telekinetic persons). For Jensen, the hope was that he would be able to think as fast as a computer, and perhaps have enough range of telekinetic motion to manipulate small pieces of equipment, to make adjustments to his tools and computers that only _he_ would be able to do, making them better than top-of-the-line machines. Like Clay, Jensen began with mild injections.

Unlike the success with Clay, Jensen did not take so well to his injections. His thinking did skyrocket, and under the new barrage of stimuli, he began to speak regularly if only as a form of release. It was when his chatter became _incessant_ that they realized something had gone wrong. And by then, even when he was purged of the medication, his mind still whirled, and he still reacted to various stimuli like he had ADHD. And as far as the telekinetic proponent was concerned, he could only move things when furious – and that merely resulted in a mass-vibration of every item not bolted to the floor.

Still, it was progress and information, so the first attempt was at least minimally successful. They found themselves playing with dosage level and content in each boy (carefully, of course), trying to maximize effectiveness.

**-Rejects-**

Nearly a month after the first trial run, operatives spotted their Weapons Specialist.

He was found in the juvenile offender, ‘Roque, William Prince’ – age seven, in solitary confinement for pulling a knife on his older brother.

The boy was volatile, but predictable. His home life was a ragged mess: a mother forced to work three jobs to support her family; a father wrapped up in the drug world, and hardly home; and an older brother with a taste for the sadistic. The operatives only knew that William had stabbed his brother when the older boy had finally had enough of torturing animals, and turned to him. Furious, and unable to defend himself against his brother’s ‘accusations’ – because, while in public his brother was more socially accepted than the rough-and-tumble William – the boy was a box of matches waiting to ignite.

A couple of well-placed documents, and William was released into the Army’s hands with no one the wiser, and a child-psychopath inhabiting his cell instead. He was more-than-willing to leave his uncaring parents and homicidal brother without a word of farewell.

**-Rejects-**

Roque did not meld especially well with the over-wordy Jensen right away… but he did form a rapport of mention with Clay. Quickly enough, when Roque learned that what Clay did, he was willing enough to follow, in spite of the scientists who hovered around. His loyalty to Clay and his distrust of other authority led to a bonding of sorts with Jensen, which grew into its own kind of friendship, built on friendly insults, easy teasing, and a few hands-on moments that – with anyone else, considering Roque’s record – might have been alarming.

As the Weapons Specialist, the modifications that Roque would live with were actually mostly physical enhancements. He would be ‘up-graded’ (as it were) into a weaponized cyborg, making him stronger, faster, more flexible, and more enduring than the average human. Small weapons would be integrated with his body, and triggered by various means. Unlike the mildly-invasive injections that Clay and Jensen dealt with, to test his ability with the machinery Roque was physically equipped with various mechanic attachments which mimicked as closely as possible, without invasive surgery, those enhancements which the scientists were hoping to add to his body.

All in all, Roque took the additions as well as anyone could be expected, when knives were strapped to forearms and waist, guns of varying sizes to legs and arms, a mild tracking system to one eye, and more. To learn how each worked at their most basic, he was equipped with just one at a time, and as he learned each as well as it could be learned, others were added. He ended up being just as good at handling weapons as his past hinted he would be, and even more lethal than that.

Some of the attachments, of course, didn’t work, or not as well as hoped; like Clay and Jensen had their injections adjusted, so too did Roque have his equipment regularly modified, searching for just the right combination.

**-Rejects-**

As difficult as Roque was to find, they had a hard time finding a good enough candidate for Transporter and Sniper. A year from Clay’s initial arrival passed.

The three boys knew one another inside and out – more than that, just like the original hope had been, they seemed to be reading one another with an ease not usually seen in the adults thrown into random units in the regular army, who were set in their ways.

They ran simulations as well as they could while missing two members of their team, and learned cohesion, give and take, reasonable reaction, and chain of command. Their classes consisted now not just of their enhancements and their areas of specialty, but of military strategy, war history, core subjects, and languages. Jensen taught his teammates ASL, and learned Arabic besides. Roque learned French and Italian. Clay stumbled through language after language, and finally learned – haltingly, but better than his other ‘attempts’ – Russian, in addition to his excellent grasp on both English and military jargon.

Their games taught them how to keep being a better team, and their free time was spent bettering their strengths – each boy had been picked in the end, not just because he was preternaturally good at what he did, but because it seemed to be an integral part of his life as well. As good as Clay was with leadership positions, he loved leading; as proficient as Jensen was in technology manipulation, he loved computers and data strings; as much as Roque excelled in weaponry and brute force, he lived in the gym and started fights just for fun.

They were _made_ for their roles.

And they patiently awaited the arrival of the final two members of their perfect team, growing better and more comfortable with one another in the mean time.

**-Rejects-**

In a spate of luck (and yet not), they finally found their Transporter.

His name was Linwood Eugene Porteous, and at eight – the same age as Roque – he was a difficult child to meet with.

Unlike his fellow children, his home life was something that might be called ‘normal’. He had a mother and father who both worked nine-to-five, who took him on weekend trips, showed up to his school recitals, fed him regularly and well, showered him with obvious love, and paid attention to his daily woes and excitements. He was the younger brother to a much older brother – in college, marking Linwood as a ‘surprise child’, such as sometimes occurred to older couples – but because of his elder brother’s age, he lived much in the way of an only child.

The operative for this extraction had to be careful, and the planning had to be perfect for this to work.

Thankfully, like his fellow children, Linwood showed an unusual gift for transportation-related machinery, even at his young age. Using this, the operative approached the Porteous couple, and proposed a ‘scholarship’ for their son, crafting an imaginary school fit for children with unusual levels of talent in one area or another. He told them that, with Linwood’s skills, the boy would be offered a full ride scholarship, and that under the tutelage of the school, Linwood would have his choice of universities at the end of his training as he saw fit, once he was eligible. He would be tutored in his area of skill, so that he would easily out-strip everyone in the field, and that would give him an edge that no one else had – advantages which the Porteous family could not give to Linwood on their middle-class wages.

Linwood himself was approached as well, where the virtues of vehicles of all kinds were extolled; where personal tutoring was pointed out; where he would have a chance to commune with other children his age who were just as dedicated and focused as himself. He would have a room to himself, his teachers would know him and teach him on a one-on-one basis, he would have a group of friends already awaiting his arrival, and he would not be the only child contacting his parents on a weekly basis, either. He would – for the first time – be part of a group of children who understood, if not his passion, than the weight of what it was to be brilliant in one way and ordinary in all else.

Linwood was taken in, and managed to – with the starry-eyed eagerness of young children – convince his parents that this was indeed the best option, this strange, year-round boarding school for bettering children like their little boy. They would not see him during break, because the school schedule kept break time to only days – not weeks – at a time, to ‘prevent loss of knowledge and drive’ in the child. But they would have weekly, even bi-weekly, contact, and if he ever expressed a strong desire to return home, they would not be charged for his schooling retroactively.

(They were hinging on the fact that none of the other children wanted out, and that Clay’s influence would convince Linwood to stay, honestly. Without that, they would have to use alternative options of persuasion, like hypnotism; their plans couldn’t be endangered like that, just because a child had a tantrum.)

The parents and the boy agreed, and he was carted off with a duffle bag of essentials as his parents tearfully, proudly waved him away after weeks of careful delegation and obfuscation, unknowing just what they were sending their son to.

**-Rejects-**

When Porteous was introduced to his fellow lab-rats, it was a much smoother induction than Roque into Clay and Jensen’s space had been – mostly because this time, Clay and Jensen were around to temper Roque’s immediate reaction to the unknown. In fact, the only bump in the road was his name – like any normal child, he respected authority, but he also saw this as the school he’d been informed it was. He refused to, like the others, adopt his last name as an acceptable moniker. Both it and his other two legal names bothered him immensely.

It was Jensen, and his big mouth, that saved the day. He stumbled over and butchered ‘Porteous’ in his rush to get the words out. His quick thinking rerouted the mangled sound into something coherent. The new recruit pouted for a couple of days, but eventually conceded that ‘Pooch’ was better than any of his other names, so it was alright. While the adults continued to address Porteous with the proper military address, he was instantly and irreversibly dubbed Pooch by his unit.

Initially, to keep up with the school air that they needed, so that Pooch’s first calls home resembled the boarding school it had been fronted as, they kept him to his studies. Like the other three, it focused primarily on his skills with any and all vehicles – from up-keep, to building from scratch, to repairs both minor and major, to (at this time, simulated) operation in all weather and terrain. He was also introduced to the other’s classes – the core, the strategy, the war history, and the languages. It was about his homework, his growing knowledge, his tiny group of friends, attentive ‘teachers’, and new grasp on numerous African dialects (his choice, however apt or racial-seeming from the outside) that he spoke to his parents about.

Through sneaky manipulation – part of _his_ homework – Clay convinced Pooch that the lack of other children in the ‘school’ was nothing to worry over, or tell his parents. He also slowly introduced Pooch to the idea of enhancements, the unit as a cohesive fighting machine, and the military drills that the boys already ran regularly. Soon enough, Pooch was keeping his conversations home innocuous without prompting, just like Clay, while learning what it meant to be part of his new team, and being ‘fitted’ with enhancements of his own.

As the Transporter, Pooch’s modifications were the least invasive. It was more that he needed a working knowledge base of every single vehicle out there – how to drive, modify, and patch each with whatever might be available… a vehicle MacGyver, as it were. For the sake of trying, he also got a dose of telekinetic-enhancer, thinking that he could use the ability to move minor objects, the same intention as had been for Jensen and his computers. And, maybe – where it hadn’t worked on Jensen – it might work on Pooch. Pooch’s injections, however, were focused on expanding his memory into eidetic-levels mostly, to support the volume of knowledge he needed.

Unlike Jensen, Pooch adapted to the sudden influx of hyper-remembering well: neither did he digress into a medical state of hyperactivity or go brain-dead, so everything was positive. As a minor consequence of his sudden memory, his grades increased, his knowledge of vehicles – as hoped – soared, and his understanding of his teammates was such that he was much quicker than Roque had been to become an irreplaceable part of the dynamic. And unlike Jensen, as well, his grasp of his telekinetic ability was much greater: he could deliberately move small objects over small distances. Objects heavier than ten pounds, or anything moved farther than six feet, however, were avoided. It ended abruptly – always – in a suddenly gushing nosebleed, a prompt blackout in the seconds shortly after, and a migraine when he woke that lasted well into the next fourteen hours. But for all that it was debilitating, it was much more promising than Jensen, and everyone was pleased.

And the children eagerly awaited the arrival of their final member.

**-Rejects-**

In the end, three months after Pooch, illegal immigration was what it took to find the Sniper.

He was found in one Carlos Teodor Gutierrez Alvarez, aged seven.

His family – like Pooch’s – was a good and loving one. But it was also a poor one, and Carlos – as the only boy – fell to work with his father to try and provide for his mother, grandparents, and three elder sisters. He loved his family, and would do anything for them.

When the operative spotted the young Hispanic child outside of the local school, hitting makeshift targets with pebbles like they were nothing, it was decided. The operative approached the elder Alvarez, and offered monthly income in exchange for his son. Though the family was hurting for money, Carlos’s father went out of his way to ensure that he was not selling his son to an illegal ring of some sort – it took the operative calling up the base, and having the elder listen to Carlos as the boy translated the English sentiments of the children on the other end of the line to convince him. Carlos, he was assured, would be permitted to contact him once a week, and as long as the boy stayed and did his job in the school – a specialty school that was in the experimental stages, and needed one more student to be running at full capacity, according to this cover – then the family would be paid.

Carlos agreed, feeling the pressure of providing for his family, and in-turn convinced his father it was alright. The duffle bag that he walked off with didn’t even have all the essentials – the operative had to stop by the store to ensure that Carlos was adequately supplied – but it came with all of his possessions. He left his father standing helplessly in front of the apartment he’d rented, watching his only son disappear into the horizon.

**-Rejects-**

It took a lot of time for the four boys to acclimate to Alvarez only because the new boy’s grasp on English was tenuous, at best. It’s hard to connect with someone when you can’t communicate effectively. In a concerted effort, each of the boys learned a bit of rudimentary Spanish, and Carlos charged on with his knowledge of the English language.

It was because of this initial langue barrier that the boys adopted sign language as their personal medium of communication. Using pidgin Spanish and English, in conjunction with heavy instances of charades, they slowly taught Alvarez what they knew – and in the process purposefully altered the signs and sentence structure to have a secret code of their very own (as prompted by a bored Jensen one day, based on their current lessons in covert operations). Since it was mostly created by a bunch of geniuses who knew numerous languages between them, the scientists – who were majors in biology and psychology, not linguistics – never managed to decode the new language of their lab rats. They didn’t much care either; the ‘new’ language made Alvarez a bone-a-fide part of the unit, and _how_ it happened wasn’t really of import.

Even without enhancements in the early weeks – as he was given a chance to learn the basics of communication, and understand what he was being taught – the new kid proved himself to be a professional at simulated missions. He was silent enough, and keen-eyed enough, that the other kids took to calling him Cougar, after the feline that he so resembled with his fluid motions and caramel-colored skin.

As he quickly caught up with his unit, Cougar excelled – on top of the code-sign, and English – in learning Japanese. He was a quiet, intense prodigy, and he fit in well with the other four. Finally, the scientists deemed Cougar ready to add to his workload, and gain an enhancement prototype like the others. As he did with everything, he took the news quietly and with determination.

As the Sniper, he needed reflexes, senses, and instincts that would take advantage of his position as an eye up high and a hunter. Unlike the other four, his enhancements weren’t largely mental or physical… they were to his very DNA. Because of this, also unlike the other four, his prototype couldn’t be ‘worn’ or tested directly. Instead, he spent time in a simulation machine which took input data from genetic splicing tests, and relayed to Cougar’s brain what and how certain reactions and senses would likely be enhanced, and overlaid that on his daily experience. It wasn’t permanent but it had a 70 hour shelf-life, so he only had to return every three days. The real-time simulation-stimulation experiment was as good as they could get before actually messing with his genes in a permanent fashion.

Mixed splicing didn’t go well; when combined into one body, his physiology rebelled, even if the splices were of the same _type_ of animal. Only two instances of mix-species splices convinced them it wasn’t a good idea: he went insensible and drowned in full-sensory hallucinations. Partial splices didn’t sit well with him, either; though no less intense than mixed splicing, the effects were different. The amphibian-splices for endurance sent Cougar spiraling into incoherence and illness. Herbivore-splices for reflexes made him jumpy and submissive-to-a-fault, even beyond when he didn’t _want_ to back down. Carnivore-splicing for enhanced senses forced them to cage him, when he couldn’t distinguish between friend and foe.

It was a singular splice – allowing his body to take on the senses, instincts, and power of just one specific animal – which went much more smoothly. It gave Cougar a slightly animalistic air, but otherwise allowed the boy to operate with maximum efficiency and a hint of more-than-human ability. Best of all, they determined that he would be able to handle three different sets of dormant genes before his body began to confuse them, giving him three different options to choose from, to alter himself according to need.

**-Rejects-**

Over the next eight years, the boys grew to be the unit that the scientists had dreamed of. Working with one another from a young age had indeed instilled in each of them an innate sense of their teammates. They could all move in synchronization, even when they couldn’t _see_ each other, even when one of them announced over the comms that a game-change needed to be made at the last minute.

Near the end of the eight years, the teens weren’t being sent on fake missions to teach and test them, but on _real_ missions. Their relative ages kept them from being obvious members of a military strike unit, so they had an easier time of it getting in and getting done what needed to be done. At the same time, their years of training and bonding made them even more effective than too many Special Operations teams to begin with.

They were the most sought after team in all the branches – though, to keep the project under wraps, their names and ages were top secret. On paper, they were known as the Rejects. It was a name they’d picked out themselves, much to the consternation of their teachers… But whenever any of the higher-ups tried to change the documentation, not only was it righted within the hour, but the computer that had done the authorizations was spammed with a childish virus: when the personnel files folder was opened, the system would freeze, and a clown with a giant ‘R’ on his forehead would bounce around indefinitely. And so it came to pass that everyone wanted the ironically-named Rejects to run their most difficult ops.

These requests were, of course, denied.

When the youngest of their number – Cougar – turned sixteen, the scientists all agreed it was time. Every one of the boys had made it passed the majority of their adolescence, and now hormone levels would be evening out. There was no more reason to wait to make the team a permanent super-powered one, since the speculated dangers of how a changing, adolescent body could alter the reception of the implants in unforeseen ways were no longer an issue. And they wanted to change the boys all at once, keeping them on the same page, each boy dealing at the same time as the others with a new body and new abilities, different and hopefully improved from the minor tastes they’d had thanks to the injections, removable modifications, and scans over the years.

The Rejects were informed of the scientists’ intentions, and they all prepared themselves, aware that this could go as well as hoped… Or that it could be a bust, in more ways than one.

Clay called his mother up just to tell her he loved her, while Roque leaned against him in support. After hanging up, Clay went quiet, and watched carefully over the rest of his team from the safe, strong circle of Roque’s arms. Roque had nobody to say goodbye to except for the Rejects, and he was too gruff to get emotional with any of them beyond Clay, anyway.

Pooch called his brother, and then video-called his parents to say the same as Clay had bid his mother. He used the video to flirt one last time with the pretty little thing that his mother had brought into their home to teach violin to, a girl named Jolene, who’d accidently ‘met’ Pooch when she walked in during a usual call home. He sighed at all hours that he’d fallen in love with her, even when the other Rejects tried to stump him with the fact that he’d only ever known via phone- and video-call. They teased him for it now, but the fact of the matter was that she, too, had professed to having a crush on Pooch. If their teammate wanted to have some sort of video romance in his free time, who were they to crush his dreams? Jensen was the only one who admitted out loud how cute he thought it was.

Cougar quietly contacted his family, reciting the same thing as the others. He’d remained a child of few words, and the warm bur of Spanish speech was quickly over with. When he hung up, he settled against the far wall of the communication room and tilted his hat low over his eyes. It had been a gift from his father for his twelfth birthday, as a reminder of home. It was a well-loved object that he allowed no one – not even his team – to touch.

Jensen rang the foster home where his fifteen year old sister lived, and – once he had her on the line – babbled rapidly at her. Most of it was nonsense trivia; she, thanks to his calls over the years, had gotten used to his hyperactivity with the rest of his team. But sprinkled here and there were terms of endearment, careful encouragement, and a background overflowing with affection. She was too young to understand that it was a ‘just in case’ message (though he was careful enough about it that an attentive listener might not have realized, either), but he hoped that if the worst did happen that this would help.

And then the scientists herded them towards their respective surgery rooms.

**-Rejects-**

In the end, it went both better and worse than expected.

But, then, when massive changes are being made to the very _make-up_ of a person, it’s _expected_ that something will go, in some capacity, wrong. So they were as prepared as they could be.

Clay gained the ability to read the emotions of those he didn’t know, as well as (with eye-contact) the minds of his team (the people he knew almost better than himself, and the only ones he trusted with his life, in other words). Only, he cracked a bit in the process. Over the next couple of months, it became painfully clear that Clay was attracted – like a damn magnet – to the crazies. It was something, the team supposed, about their mental state, or the emotions that crazy people have… But whatever it was, Clay gravitated towards them – and was a wreck if he went for much longer than a month without crazy-contact, preferably of a sexual kind. When the car bomb went off, after one of his conquests got angry, the Rejects simply learned to deal with the idiosyncrasies of their Leader.

Jensen – if he’d been a technology ‘wizard’ before – truly was one now. If Clay knew his team better than he knew himself, then Jensen knew any machine he touched better than himself. His specialty was in computers and hacking, but if he tinkered with it, and it ran on electricity, he could figure it out… and probably even make it better. The telekinesis worked now, well enough that he could maneuver small objects over a couple of yards, and for well over an hour if need be. Computer parts, as always, worked best. The downside was that Jensen had a mild link with any computer he touched – temporary, unless it was one of his personal computers, but intense while it lasted – and that link passed on bits and pieces of information to Jensen. If _before_ he had been talkative and full of random facts, it was three times as worse now. When it meant that – digitally, at least – they were never compromised, and they could eventually find anything they searched for, the Rejects learned how to put up with their even more hyperactive Tech.

Roque was hit harder by his change than the others, mostly because his truly was a set of _surgeries_. Metal webbing was grafted to his skeleton, reinforce it for the shock that carrying and firing heavy weapons from half-inside his body would cause while still giving his blood and marrow a place to meet; nanobots, meant to make repairs to his system from the inside, were introduced to various ports installed inside of him; most of his organs were replaced with machines that did the same, in the event of one of his weapons went haywire it would be much easier to fix him and/or keep him from dying on the spot; and his muscles were reinforced by specialized nanobots, meant to increase his strength ten-fold (as, without it, he might not even be able to _move_ with so much inside him). And then came the actual weapons. Responding to specific movement patterns from fingers, arms, legs, and even in some cases his whole torso, a machete would unfold from his right forearm, to be removed; his left shoulder would open up for a miniature machine gun, ready to aim and fire according to his eyes and fingers; his left calf held a smaller, removable knife; his right a removable handgun; a small case in his torso that opened just above his right hip had room for one grenade, crafted specifically to hold it so as to keep the tiny explosive from going off inside him; for dire circumstances, a switch in his back left molar, when held down for five seconds and then clicked twice rapidly, would release a sonic noise on range to effect human hearing; thanks to permanent contacts, his right eye could zoom and sight, and his left had infrared and night-vision capabilities; and the vast majority of his skin – to make up for the various openings that his skin had to make room for (he even had a port in his neck that he could plug into a socket to get raw electricity, though aside from that as long as his openings were closed he _looked_ human) – was replaced with a durable skin-imitation that was markedly more resilient. As a result of his change, he grew even more gruff and pessimistic than before, trusting _only_ his team. It was a week, after he was the last discharged from medical, before he’d let Jensen touch him; everyone was relieved to find that Jensen’s tech-link didn’t bleed over. When he proved completely capable of controlling his weapons, and their use – and even seemed partial to the knives that he had to use like everyone else – even after a night terror or a flashback, the Rejects carefully learned how to handle their Weapons Specialist.

Pooch seemed to be the most at home with his abilities. Now a walking encyclopedia – mostly of vehicles, but an edict memory invades _every_ part of one’s life – Pooch was quieter than he used to be, more introspective and thoughtful. He was a little slower to laugh, but when he did it was genuine, so he was still their go-to positive member. As far as the telekinesis went, his abilities _soared_ , even as they sunk. His power became so forceful that if he tried small things – like sending wrench across the room – it sped by in an uncontrolled spin and buried itself three feet deep in a concrete wall. But moving _vehicles,_ especially with passengers, was a whole other ballgame; he learned how to ‘drive’ simply by thinking a vehicle along, which meant that their getaways would be all the better to succeed if he could, for example, drive along a cliff-side road used by tiny cars, and by dint of his abilities, keep a big Hummer level while only being half-on a solid surface. This renewed reliability on escape and transportation options – and his still-mellow outlook on life – allowed the Rejects learn how to embrace and utilize their Transporter.

And Cougar took to his modifications like he was born to it. The silent, observant, keen-eyed sharp-shooter already embodied many of the traits that made the animal world’s hunters what they were. When he gained the ability to use the traits of, and completely shift into the forms of, a cougar, a red-tailed hawk, and a rattlesnake. The downside was that, when startled or experiencing intense emotion, traits of his inner-animals were likely to emerge – claws instead of nails, poison fangs, a twitchy tail, talons instead of feet, scaly patches of skin, long feathers in his hair. As he got better at controlling and suppressing the outward signs, others became apparent in their wake – deep growls, baring his teeth in silent snarls, quiet chirrups, open-mouthed hissing, and territorial aggression. When it became clear that the one vice he would have, in that his hat was _his Hat,_ and that their teammate was just a little closer at all time to his inner-animal then they were, the Rejects learned how to work with and around the instincts of their Sniper.

And so were the final incarnation of the Rejects – as had been envisioned years before, more powerful and cohesive than any regular Special Operations team – settled.

**-Rejects-**

Over the next couple of years, the Rejects continued to go on missions, beating out the averages. And every once in a while, they got news.

Clay’s mother died, in her sleep and without pain. They huddled around their Leader and went on another mission, per his request, only to drown as a team in bad vodka in some dive bar deep in Russia before returning home.

Roque tried to overcome his affection for Clay by going out. Apparently, he’d picked up some habits from Clay, though, because his date nearly killed him. When he stumbled in with a slice across one eye, and blood on his hands, all he had to do was look at Clay then stomp brokenly to his room, and the Rejects were doing what they could to cover (up) for their teammate. Roque stopped trying to deny his attachment to his CO, and Clay began to see it for himself.

Jensen’s sister moved out, and it was a cause for celebration… Until she called back a couple of months later, terrified of an ex who wouldn’t leave her alone, and whose child she suspected she was carrying. Clay and Roque stayed on base to act as decoys, so the Brass wouldn’t catch on, while Jensen recruited Cougar and Pooch to help him track down and ‘discourage’ the male in question. They _all_ took some leave a couple months after that to welcome his niece into the world, and took on the (dubious, for some) titles of honorary uncles.

When Pooch proposed over youtube, and Jolene accepted in the same fashion, the team got rip-roaring drunk in celebration. A year later, they all got leave to attend (and participate) in the wedding – small, tasteful, and private. When Pooch got the news, after years of trying, that he and Jolene were just one of those incompatible couples who probably would never conceive together, they each spent quite, commiserating time with him in their own ways; they couldn’t fix it, but they could care. When she _did_ get pregnant, they celebrated by buying him a clunky old car from the 1930’s to restore. He cried like a baby.

When word got back to Cougar that his grandfather had died of a stroke, his grandmother had died of the loss, and his two eldest sisters were pregnant, he was at a loss. They stood by his side when he climbed to rooftops and sighted targets, and (in Jensen’s case) talked his ear off while curled up next to him on the couch, he reading a book and Jensen on his laptop. And when at last he was ready to go home and face the maelstrom of emotions, the Rejects followed at his heels all the way to his family’s home, silent and respectful of the small Hispanic culture that lived and thrived in that corner of America, taking all their cues from the (for once) rather vocal Cougar… even if most of it was in Spanish or sign.

And they kept going.

**-Rejects-**

(When the ‘copter blew up, Clay screamed and collapsed. The sudden, shocking loss of tiny minds in conjunction with the physical concussion of the explosion was too much; Roque stayed by his bedside the whole week it took Clay to regain coherency. The best part about it was that Roque _was_ crazy, no doubt, and it worked out. Aisha was just a side-note, an attempt to get an ally, and Roque understood that he was the end-all-be-all for Clay… That didn’t mean he didn’t promise Clay a jealous-hell fit when Aisha was no longer needed.)

(It was only his ability to control machines that allowed Jensen to stop up the guns aimed at him long enough for Cougar to take a shot that only he could see with hawk-eyes. The rest of it was borne of how well Cougar and he had come to know one another. Cougar would have his ass later for putting himself in such danger; the Rejects, but Jensen _especially_ , had become _very much_ Cougar’s territory.)

(In the end, it was the only relief they could find, that Roque hadn’t flipped out on all of them voluntarily. He’d _loved_ Clay – and been loved _back_ – and would have followed the man into Hell itself. The only reason he’d betrayed them was because Max had gotten a lock on the nanobots in his system, wirelessly reassigned their tasks, and messed with his brain, literally. Jensen didn’t clock onto it because he couldn’t access Roque like any other machine. Thankfully, when he tried hard enough, he was able to stop Roque, and over the next week reverse most of the damage. They all came away more injured from the fight then they would have had Roque died, sure, and Roque left Jensen’s hands much more clingy-for-Clay than expected – Jensen blamed it on replacing his medicated need to help Max with a stronger, deeper return to his overall need for Clay – but it turned out right.)

(Flying that ‘copter while they were being shot at was not one of the worst things he’d been through. Nor was getting some kind of transport while shot _in both legs._ But his skill with vehicles helped the armored truck ‘find’ it’s way onto the wildly-swinging magnet and stay there, and also allowed him to drive the yellow stretch-Hummer through the mess that was the after-fight with Max and Roque, while Jensen lay unconscious in the back, from his desperate attempts to get through to Roque’s systems. Considering that Clay dragged in an equally-unconscious Roque while sporting a nasty concussion, Aisha walked out on them, and Cougar was hovering too much over the prone Jensen to drive, it was a good thing in the end. Even if he did ache horribly.)

(The ability to fly high over a scene allowed Cougar to get the drop on Max’s escape helicopter. Winging in, he shifted to a cougar and ripped out the pilot’s throat, before – to avoid a spray of bullets – shifting to a snake and sinking his fangs into Max’s wrist, temporarily preventing another trigger-pull. Cougar allowed himself to be shaken off, falling out of the open ‘copter door, and shifted back to a hawk in time to avoid the ocean. He watched with sharp eyes as the ‘copter crashed into the water, exploding, and had the satisfaction of knowing, as he turned towards the others, that his bite was venomous enough that on the _rare_ off-chance Max survived the explosion, he would die before he could swim the distance back to land. Cougar landed and slipped into the stretch-Hummer, purring quietly in the knowledge that the threat to _his_ Jensen was gone.)

**-Rejects-**

When they all got back to the States, a little worse-for-wear, they stayed the status quo long enough to see Jolene give birth, and allow Jensen’s niece her time in the spot-light. And then – untrusting of their government – the Rejects quietly packed up Jolene and the baby, and Jensen’s sister and niece, and sent them to Cougar’s family before shipping _everyone_ out to a safe house… Aisha’s one parting gift.

They stayed there just long enough to make new identities for the civilians – thirteen in all, counting Cougar’s tight-knit family – and then started their new lives, as a group, in a quiet, unmarked village deep in South America. They were welcomed – what with the protection and additional helping hands their presence brought to the lonely, isolated village – with open arms. The civilians adjusted admirably to the change; the knowledge that they’d thought their loved ones dead was a great motivator.

… And somehow, even with satellites and advanced search technology, no one ever found them… Or if they found them on foot, Roque and Clay were enough to ‘convince’ them to ‘forget’.

Pooch threatened to throttle Jensen every time he said so, for the over-sappiness of the statement, but as far as Jensen was concerned it was true, and bore repeating – the Rejects, and company, lived happily ever after.

**Author's Note:**

> I really struggled with this story; all I knew was that I wanted them to have superpowers, as per the prompt about Jensen. I also wanted a happily-ever-after, and it took a bit of fighting to get it there. So, aside from the possibly dubious ending, what did you think?
> 
> Also, a shout-out to AO3 user Cougars_catnip, who pointed out a rather embarrassing editing mix up. You're so kind; thanks for taking the time and effort to comment on the story, _and_ point out that error. I appreciate it!


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